


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by Esjay (La_Strega)



Category: Highlander (Movies), Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 23:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Strega/pseuds/Esjay
Summary: Trust is hard. Mistakes are made. Everyone's kind of an asshole.





	No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pat_t](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/gifts).



> Thanks to Raine for the excellent beta read.

2033

Methos sighed and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position on the warm sand, angling his book to keep the sun out of his eyes while he read. The breeze carried the faint scent of frangipani, and his book was just interesting enough to keep him awake rather than giving into the nap that was tugging at him. The narrative was building to its final denouement when _it_ happened. _Ugh._ Methos tossed the book aside in annoyance, his good mood evaporating as if it had never existed. Immortal presence washed over him, announcing its owner as clearly as a voice. It had been only fifteen years, so it wasn’t like he’d _forgotten_. It wasn’t like he could ever forget. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. With a sigh, Methos stood and brushed the sand off his ass while he squinted at the far end of the beach.

Sure enough, the catamaran from the main island had pulled up at the jetty and passengers were straggling off, winding their way through the press of locals waiting for freight and supplies. Even without the Immortal early warning system, it wasn’t like he could miss MacLeod. Six feet of angst and complications dressed in pale linen paused in mid-step at the top of the jetty steps. He looked simultaneously pleased with himself and unsure of his welcome. He really should have been less of the former and more of the latter, but that was MacLeod for you, always doing shit that made perfect sense to him but no one else, all the while hanging onto more baggage than Vuitton. 

He did look good though. Very good. The tropics always did suit him. The humidity was making his short-cropped hair curl and his skin sheen with sweat. A large duffel bag hung from his shoulder. Methos shot it a look MacLeod wasn’t meant to miss. Duncan parried with a look that took in the length of Methos’ mostly naked body.

“Well...look what the cat dragged in,” Methos said as Duncan came down the beach towards him.

"It’s funny because I came over on a catamaran,” Duncan deadpanned back at him.

It wasn’t the least bit funny, but he was rusty and it was nothing at all to do with being off balance on account of the slither of arousal sneaking through him. The moment when someone should have said something came and went, the silence growing more awkward with every second.

“Hello, Methos,” Duncan said finally as he stopped an arm’s length away.

“MacLeod.” Methos offered nothing more, waiting him out. The look on Duncan’s face was much like the last time Methos had seen him, like he wanted something he didn’t know how to ask for. The thought of the last time had his back stiffening and a small curl of anger heating in his belly.

“How have you been?” Duncan began after a long minute. “I-”

Methos missed the rest of what he said, bending to grab his book from the sand and turn on his heel to head in the opposite direction back down the beach towards his house. He didn’t want to hear whatever Duncan would say because it wouldn’t be anything he wanted to hear. It would be _come back_ and _I need your help_ and _Methos, do you know?_ As devoted as Methos was to hearing that soft, oddly accented voice moaning hot against his neck as they fucked, he was even more devoted to the preservation of the continuing connection between his head and his neck. He liked being alive - he was great at it, reigning world champion and all that. Despite the odds, he’d made it through five thousand plus years without dying or going permanently mad (temporarily didn’t count, that was just the cost of living), and he didn’t plan on giving up on it anytime soon. But that didn't mean needed anyone risking their neck on his behalf....

MacLeod could take his unfairly fabulous ass back to whatever hotbed of trouble he’d come from and good luck to him.

He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Duncan wasn’t following him.

Wherever MacLeod had gone, he wasn’t there as Methos stalked down the path to his house, nor when he stomped up the 128 rickety stairs that wound up and around to his eccentric little cabin perched high in a banyan tree. He was still out of range by the time Methos slammed the front door and disappeared into the cool, dark interior.

*

2018

“London?” Methos couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You want to go to London?” Perhaps he’d fucked some brain cells loose this time. Methos wriggled his arm free from under Duncan’s side and propped himself up on one elbow. “The only thing they have more of in London than Immortals is CCTV.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.” He rolled over and sat up, looking around on the floor.

Methos toed a pair of boxer-briefs up from the end of the bed and tossed them at Duncan’s head. “It is exactly that bad and you know it. It’s not 1998 anymore. Tech’s come a long way in the last 20 years. Facial recognition is a thing, big data is a thing.”

Duncan snatched the shorts out of the air without even looking. “They’re things in more places than just London.” He stood and stepped into them while Methos ogled him shamelessly. He really was so pretty.

“All the more reason for you to come with me to my place in Piriapolis, McHotpants,” Methos shot back as he flicked a look up to meet Duncan’s eyes. “Uruguay for the winter? Sunshine, surf and no spycams….” Behind Duncan, rain was hammering at the wide picture windows as the afternoon storm whipped the palm trees back and forth. It was nothing to the storm forming between Duncan’s eyebrows.

“I thought you’d want to come with me to London,” he said, turning away to watch the storm.

"Not really, no.” Methos rolled out of bed to stand beside him, looking out into the gray. The Goan coastline was usually shining blue and white out there, but the rains had come early this year so every afternoon brought thunderstorms that drove them inside and made it easy to just fall into bed, whiling away the long afternoons as the rain chased away the sticky summer heat. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Duncan’s broad shoulder. “Why would you want to leave all this?”

*

2033

The short tropical twilight was just ending – yellow-orange sunlight glowing through the leaves giving way to deep shadow – when he felt Duncan come back at last. Methos lifted his sword out from the umbrella stand by the door and waited. It wasn’t by accident he’d chosen a treehouse with an inordinate number of stairs to climb when he’d moved to Tanna.

The fifth-last step brought Duncan to the exact right height and distance for the tip of Methos’ sword to bring him to a sudden, startled halt.

“Methos!”

Methos narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”

“I’m unarmed, Methos. Put it down.” Duncan eased back anyway, keeping his hands where Methos could see them.

“Should I even ask how you found me?”

“Are you gonna put the sword down?” 

“Nope.” That hot flame of anger was back again.

Duncan inhaled deeply and looked up into Methos' eyes. "It took me a while but I met a pilot in a bar in Rome last year.”

Methos raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that! He was saying he’d been flying tourist charters around a volcano when he’d had a bad landing on an airstrip in Vanuatu. Told me about this hot English doctor who’d helped him out, set his broken leg.” 

“Hot? You sure it wasn’t a bit like that?”

Duncan blushed a little. It was still fucking delightful but Methos refused to smile.

“He was very descriptive. And grateful.”

“Proving yet again,” Methos replied acidly, “that no good deed goes unpunished.”

*

2018

The crashing of steel on steel rang around the warehouse, echoing through the vast empty space. They’d been at this for a while and Methos was sick of it. He’d been walking down the crowded street, minding his own business, ignoring the Immortal he could sense somewhere around when a door opened. Before he could react someone grabbed him off the street and into a fight for his life.

Methos drew his opponent in close and bound his sword, then turned and shoved his shoulder hard into the other Immortal’s chest to send him staggering back. Fuck, he hated fighting randoms like this. This didn’t seem to be someone with a specific grudge against him; he hadn’t said a word. Methos was certain this one didn’t even know he’d challenged a five-thousand year-old Immortal. Judging by the sword and the skill level, he wasn’t brand new but he was likely no older than Duncan. Not that it mattered.

Coming to London had, predictably, been a huge mistake. _Quelle fucking surprise_.

Methos’ foot slipped on a patch of oil and his leg shot out sideways, unbalancing him. His arms flailed as he fought to keep his feet, but he recovered a split second before the other guy’s sword clipped the edge of his ear. Methos ignored the small pain in favor of going in hard, disarming the guy with short sharp blow of his pommel to the wrist. He didn’t wait for the sword to hit the floor before he slashed for the belly, then the neck as he fell forward. The Immortal’s head rolled away under a row of high shelving. Methos dropped his sword with a resentful sneer toward the headless body as the Quickening began to curl around him. The last thing he felt before the energy took him was the approach of another Immortal.

*

2033

“When they said down at the village you lived in a treehouse, I thought they were kidding.” Duncan clearly thought this was the time for friendly conversation. He was wrong.

“It’s a house. In a tree,” Methos snapped back, pushing the sword’s tip forward just enough to prick the soft flesh under MacLeod’s chin. “And it comes with several tactical advantages.”

“So I see. Are you going to ask me in?”

Duncan was really pushy for a guy with a sword still pointed at his neck, but that was nothing new. It was fully dark now with the only illumination the pair of solar torches at the top of the stairs. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m sorry?”

Methos inhaled a long slow breath. “Nope.”

“Because I love you?”

And that was the last straw. Methos telegraphed a wild swing at him. Duncan ducked under it easily and backed down the stairs. If Duncan fell, Methos would watch the doorbell video about a hundred times. Maybe he’d put it on YouTube. He swung the sword again and chased Duncan all the way down the remaining 123 stairs. He didn’t fall, but it was a near thing. When he reached the ground, Duncan kept walking back along the village path and didn’t look back.

Methos waited until he could no longer sense Duncan before he turned and trudged back up the stairs. Perhaps the video would still be worth watching.

*

2018

Quickenings didn’t make him horny – not as much as they did Duncan anyway – but he was still feeling pretty great when he came to on the warehouse floor to find Duncan looming over him. What excellent timing he had.

“You okay?” Duncan asked as he reached down to pull Methos to his feet.

Methos let the momentum press them up close. He breathed in deep, smelling sweat and leather and that cheap shampoo Duncan insisted on using because his hair looked the same no matter what he used. “Let’s get out of here.”

Methos collected his sword and tucked it away in his coat. He didn’t even complain about Duncan’s arm around his waist, holding him close as they walked. Maybe Methos could talk him into an alley quickie for old times’ sake.

Thoughts of quickies, alley or otherwise, faded fast when they felt the signature of another Immortal wash over them.

“Oh, fuck absolutely _off_ ,” Methos muttered as the signature’s owner stepped into sight.

The new Immortal was a pudgy white guy who reminded him vaguely of that comedian Duncan liked. Duncan, being Duncan, stepped in front of Methos and drew his sword.

“No, not you,” the guy said, drawing his own sword. He nodded at Methos. “Him.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake. Put that away. You too,” he told Duncan, who didn’t. Neither did the other guy. “Listen, genius, there are two of us and one of you so even if you take me, which as the kids say, LOL, he’ll just kill you when you’re done. There’s no win for you here. So run along and count this as your lucky day, all right?”

The Immortal looked confused. He glanced down at his sword and back up at them.

Rolling his eyes elaborately at the standard of bad guys he had to put up with in this century, Methos took a step forward. “Fuck. The. Fuck. Off.”

The guy took one more puzzled look at both their faces before finally doing as requested and fucking off.

Methos looked across at Duncan hiding his amusement poorly. “Can we go home now?”

It was less funny the next four times he went out alone and wound up being dragged into a challenge.

“Someone’s definitely gunning for you, Methos,” Duncan said, catching Methos as he stumbled through the front door of their terrace house. Duncan maneuvered him into a chair before taking a seat himself.

Methos groaned, having come to the same conclusion at least two heads ago. “No shit. And yet none of them seem to know who I really am. It’s so bloody strange. Can’t imagine why there’s a sudden urge for all these Immortals to line up for Adam Pierson’s head.” He slid his arms out of coat and let it fall over the back of the chair. The multitude of weapons inside didn’t make a sound. “But whatever their malfunction, I’m done with it. I wonder if there are still seats on tomorrow’s flight to Montevideo.”

Duncan reached out and took Methos’ hand, holding it tight. “I can’t leave yet, you know I’m not finished what I came here to do.” He looked into Methos’ eyes, pleading.

Methos was such a sucker for that look. But not that much of a sucker. “You can meet me there when you’re done.” Duncan looked disappointed and then, something else. Methos tugged his hand free. “Or not. Up to you.”

For once, Methos couldn’t read what was going on in Duncan’s head, but he let it go in favor of getting up to find his computer and book the next flight out of this Immortal infested hellscape.

*

2033

Methos went back into the treehouse and picked up his phone, ready to enjoy the sight of MacLeod’s panicked flight down Methos’ 128 unevenly spaced stairs along with a nice cold beer. Instead, there was an encrypted message notification on the lock screen. He had to open it to see who it was from, but it wasn’t like it was hard to guess. He’d only edited the details, not deleted him entirely.

DICK HEAD

             I really am sorry. Not for saving your life. But for everything else.

Methos had a cutting barb all ready to reply when another message came through.

              I’m leaving tomorrow.

 Methos closed the app and put down the phone.

*

2018

The next flight out of London to Uruguay wasn’t until the afternoon, so Methos dragged his exhausted ass to bed. His dreams that night were weird technicolor horror shows he couldn’t quite wake up from. It had to be all the Quickenings, he thought. One particularly vivid dream had Duncan leaning over him, and then the sharp prick of something stinging his neck. When he finally woke, it was late and his head was foggy and strange, like he’d come back to life. And Duncan was gone.

Shit was clearly not as it seemed and Methos was fucking done with it. He dressed quickly and comprehensively armed himself before he went out the door. He couldn’t sense Duncan anywhere around but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find him. He opened an app on his phone and sure enough, the icon for Duncan’s phone appeared just across the river in an industrial park by the train tracks. Methos had told Duncan any number of times having location tracking enabled was a security risk, but now wasn’t the time for that. The traffic was marginally less awful than it might have been, so he flagged down a cab, jumped inside, and snarled the address at the driver.

Just because the traffic wasn’t as hideous as usual didn’t mean it was good, of course.  Methos compulsively ran scenarios in his head as the cab slowly made its way to their destination. He made himself breathe deep and slow to keep the anger and fear from making him stupid. His fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm until they were across the river and rolling up at their destination.

Methos tossed a wad of pound notes at the driver and hoped it was enough to keep the guy from chasing after him as he fled the cab. The sense of more than one Immortal flooded through him and he ran towards it, having an out of body experience as he realized the lengths he was prepared to go through for this man. His sense of self-preservation was completely overshadowed by the need to do anything and everything to ensure Duncan’s continued survival, no matter how furious he was with the controlling prick right now.  Whatever was happening inside the warehouse was already happening when Methos reached the door; he could hear steel and voices.

He skidded to a halt as he came to the end of a corridor and there they were, Duncan and a beautiful woman, hacking at each other’s blades with wild, uncontrolled fury. Methos recognized her instantly. Duncan shot him a single, surprised look before he turned his attention back to the fight. Methos stood frozen, his heart beating a furious staccato, unable to leave, unable to look away.

“I don’t want to kill you, Kate, but I can’t let you kill him either.” Duncan’s voice cracked as he spoke.

The woman, Duncan’s wife, ex-wife, whatever, swung a long, low strike at Duncan’s legs. He vaulted over it and struck back. She parried the blow and held him there. She was strong, but Duncan was only defending himself, not attacking.

“Stop sending headhunters after him, Kate,” Duncan told her gently, slipping his blade aside and catching her off-balance; she stumbled towards him. “It’s not Adam’s fault you and I didn’t work out.” He wrapped one arm around her from behind and held her tight against him. “We have too much behind us to have a future.”

“Bullshit!” She tore herself free and aimed a wildly lucky strike that Duncan had to duck his head under to avoid. Methos' gut twisted at how close it had been.

Duncan was still fighting defensively, not attacking her, and it was clear she knew it. She might be unhinged, this ex-wife of his, but she wasn't _stupid_. 

Kate sliced a long cut down Duncan's chest, but Duncan pulled back and it stayed shallow. Methos' hand went to his sword.

“I trusted you!” she screamed.

Well, that was her first mistake, Methos thought bitterly as the fight went on.

Eventually, Duncan slid his katana’s blade across the back of her leg. Hamstrung and furious, she staggered and flailed, losing her balance, and falling against a wall. She still had it in her to hold her sword up defensively as Duncan stepped in close. “Give it up, Kate. Give it up now or I’ll have to finish this.” Duncan dared a look over at Methos, pleasure giving way to guilt.

Methos had seen enough. He turned on his heel, walked back out the door, and kept on going. It barely mattered if Kate lived or died, the damage was already done.

*

2033

Methos didn’t sleep. He lay there in his wide bed, the sheets chill and damp with the nighttime humidity pouring in through the open windows on the sulfur-scented breeze, wondering how the fuck they'd fucked it up so comprehensively. In the far distance, Yasur rumbled and spat fire into the sky. Methos watched the red glow against the smoke, the occasional fountain of sparks, brilliant as a Quickening.

The sun was over the horizon enough to turn the room from black to gray when Methos decided he’d had enough and reached for his phone. He opened the app and tapped in a quick message.

             Did you finish it?

Duncan’s reply came straight back.

             She promised she would leave you alone.

And then another.

             But a week later one of the guys she recruited did it anyway.

It saved Methos from having to do it himself, he guessed, and risk putting even more of a wedge between him and Duncan, if that was even possible. The phone vibrated one more time.

             Can I see you before I go?

Methos thought about it for a long time before messaging back.

             Come up to the house in half an hour.

He was three distinct kinds of fool for doing this, but Duncan was hardly the only one of them who’d stuck their dick in crazy only to have it come back to bite them in large and awful ways. Methos hauled his ass upright and went to the kitchen. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to fix today, but damn it he was gonna try.

At half an hour on the dot, Methos sensed Duncan coming near. Clutching a mug of coffee as big as his head, he strolled out to wait at the top of the stairs. He left his sword in the umbrella stand this time.

Duncan was a little bruised-looking under the eyes this morning, but otherwise just the same as always. Methos sipped his coffee silently and waited for Duncan to get all the way up. He had no idea what he would say.

Neither did Duncan, if the awkward greeting and subsequent silence were any indications. When Methos offered him coffee, he looked so damned grateful, Methos would have laughed if he’d had it in him.

Duncan took a long sip and looked at him in surprise. “It’s good.”

“Local.”

“Right.”

And... they were back to awkward again. Methos sat down on the lumpy secondhand couch that had come with the house. Duncan made as if to sit down beside him until he noticed the expression on Methos’ face. He sat on a chair instead.

“I really am sorry, Methos.”

“You drugged me and left me. I was dead, wasn’t I?” Apparently, he did know what he would say and then some. “You killed me and left me helpless while you went off with your wife who wanted you dead.”

Duncan looked like he wanted to add something but Methos was on a roll.

“You didn’t tell me it was her sending all those challengers. You didn’t tell me you knew what was going on. You didn’t let me decide how to fix my own fucking problem. You steamrollered over me and ran off to fix it yourself without saying a _fucking word_.” Methos had to put the coffee down or it would be all over the room. “I really thought we were past this shit.”

“Kate was my problem first,” Duncan said sadly. “I made her Immortal, and it broke her.”

“And still it didn’t teach you about making decisions for other people,” Methos shot back, waspish and unfair in his anger. Maybe not all that unfair. "She wanted my head and you offered her yours." He could barely get the words out, he was so angry.

"Not so much offered-" 

Methos' look seemed to burn the rest of that sentence right out of him.

The silence that followed seemed to take on a life of its own. Duncan stood up and walked to the window as if to get away from it.

“She thought if you were dead, we could be together again,” Duncan said, still facing the window. “I tried to help her, but Kell had turned her into a weapon and there was nothing left of the woman I knew. She wouldn't have killed me.”

He crossed the room to sit down beside him and this time Methos let him.

“I really didn’t figure it out until that last night. I knew she was in town, but I didn’t know she was doing...that.”

Methos didn’t know what to say in response, so he said nothing.

‘I love you and I couldn’t lose you, not when I could stop it.” He made as if to take Methos’ hand but changed his mind at the last second. “I was just trying to keep everyone alive, Methos.” Duncan met his eyes at last. “You know?”

Methos did know, only too well, but Duncan wasn’t getting out of it that easily.

*

2034

Methos knew Duncan was waiting for him outside the village clinic of course, but he still looked a little pleased and surprised when he walked out the door to find Duncan there, lurking in the long dusk shadows. “Are you waiting to walk me home, MacLeod?” Methos smiled teasingly. “Pretty sure I’m not a high school girl.”

“I think I’d remember that.” Duncan’s look left no question as to what he was remembering.

They’d come a long way in the year since Duncan had come to the island, but not that far. Duncan had stayed, because he said he had nothing better to do, which was a lie, and because he wanted to make things right between them, which was not. Methos let the moment cool into nothing just like he had so often lately and they walked along the rough, sandy path together, chatting about village gossip, things at the clinic, and Duncan’s own work improving the reliability of the local power supply after the damage of the last cyclone season. There wasn’t anything particularly different about today, except there was. The occasional brush of Duncan’s bare arm against his own as they walked brought Methos into sharp, clear awareness of his own body and suddenly he wanted, desperately.

They’d come to the bottom of Methos’ stairs and they paused there. Duncan had a treehouse of his own now, just down the road: a neat little yellow cottage sitting incongruously in a high tree at the top of a set of vertiginous stairs of his own. Methos sent him the frank, hot look that had always worked so well for him in the past.

“Come up?”

Duncan, unsurprisingly, didn’t need asking twice. It didn’t even look like he was planning to wait to get inside before he got his hands on Methos. Methos was drawn into a series of increasingly filthy kisses as they made their way up the stairs, only pausing long enough for Duncan to press him against the stair rail. He was breathless by the time they reached the top, but that didn’t stop him grabbing Duncan by the shirtfront and dragging him all the way into the house. Duncan was on board with the program; he kicked the door shut behind him and walked out of his sandals without a second’s pause.

Then Duncan pulled a some kind of crafty ninja move that had his shirt off and Methos pressed up against the wall in the time Methos had taken to tug his own t-shirt over his head. Methos arched against him, baring his neck for Duncan’s teeth. He’d missed this so fucking much. Methos slid his hands to Duncan’s hips and sent his trousers slithering to the floor, followed quickly by Methos’ own. Duncan’s ass was hot and perfect and Methos palmed it greedily.

It had been too long and they really needed to be fucking soon.

Methos walked Duncan backwards, sliding his kisses from Duncan’s mouth to his neck, licking and biting until they reached the bed. He pushed Duncan backwards into it, following him down. The underwear had to go. He reached a hand down to tug at it.

“Off, off.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Duncan sounded as desperate for it as Methos was.

After a lot of unseemly wriggling, they were both finally naked but it would have been easier had either of them been willing to shift their hands and mouths from each other’s bodies. Duncan’s skin was hot and deeply tanned and Methos couldn’t get enough of it, moving from his neck to his chest, down to his tight, dark nipples, biting and sucking. He licked his way over those glorious abs and down to Duncan’s hard cock. Duncan’s hips were rocking up against him helplessly, as he moaned low in his throat. Methos got the tip of his tongue to Duncan’s cock but a hand lifting his chin stopped him going further.

“Just fuck me, Methos.” Duncan’s voice was rough and his eyes were black with arousal. “It’s been so long.”

Methos was too turned on to even think about lecturing Duncan about relative perceptions of time, but he reserved the right to go back to that later. He reached across the bed to grab the sadly unused bottle of lube from the drawer.

Duncan spread his legs and drew them back so Methos could get it him. Holy shit, it had been too long. Methos was shaking with the need to get inside him. He managed one lubed finger and a quick swipe over his cock before he absolutely, positively could wait no more.

“Sorry,” he breathed as he pushed in, much too quickly, into the heat of Duncan’s body.

“Don’t be…” Duncan was panting as Methos thrust, all the way in. “Don’t be sorry, it’s good.”

Methos angled his hips for the next one and Duncan clutched his arms hard enough to bruise.

“Yes….” Duncan ground out. “Come on, come on, fuck me.”

Methos soon found a rhythm that had Duncan writhing, lifting, and shifting his shoulders on the bed as if the sensations were too much to bear. He was so fucking beautiful. Methos could stave off his own orgasm if he could just keep giving Duncan this gorgeous, acute pleasure. They fucked hard and long, only pausing for Methos to pull out and turn Duncan over, lifting his hips to fuck him from behind. Duncan’s toe-curling cry as Methos pushed back inside told him this was an excellent choice. Soon sweat was dappling the small of Duncan’s back and he was moaning non-stop in time with Methos’ thrusts. Neither of them would last much longer.

Duncan came at the point of a sharp, hip-swiveling thrust that pushed him up the bed. He made a sound like the pleasure was so much it hurt him, his body locking up tight as he came without a hand on him. Methos followed him over, giving way to it at last, as the orgasm ripped through him like a tsunami and left him panting raggedly against Duncan’s back.

Eventually he had to roll off him, but Duncan wouldn’t let him get too far away, holding him close, heedless of the wet patch beneath them.

“I missed this,” Duncan whispered before a small kiss to Methos’ hairline. “Missed you.”

“You’re not the only one.” Small aftershocks of pleasure were still running through him at intervals, and he would blame that for any excessive romanticism that followed.

The treehouse was swaying in the wind the way it sometimes did and Methos let it rock him almost all the way to sleep before the rumble of Duncan’s voice brought him back a little way towards wakefulness. “Methos?” Duncan began.

“Yeah?”

“It wasn’t ever that I didn’t trust you.”

Methos shifted closer. “That’s not necessarily a poor impulse most of the time.”

“Not true.” Duncan’s arm tightened around him. “All I ever wanted was for you to stay alive.”

“An excellent aim,” Methos replied. “Just remember I’ve a few skills in that field myself.”

“I know....” Duncan’s breath was hot on Methos’ neck. “I’m a great admirer of all your skills.”

“Is that so?” Maybe sleep wasn’t that necessary after all. “You gonna show me?”

Duncan lifted up so they were face to face. There was moonlight enough for Methos to see the emotion in his big, dark eyes. “For the rest of my life.”

For a moment Methos considered playing it for laughs, then manned up and went for honesty instead. He laid a hand on Duncan’s cheek and returned the look. “Let’s make sure that’s a long, long time.”

 

 


End file.
